Tomorrow, Or Next Year
by snitchbox
Summary: While the trio is off horcrux-hunting, the gang back at Hogwarts is fighting a battle of their own. This is my alternative Book 7 -- as told through the eyes of everyone’s favorite Transfiguration teacher and flying instructor. McG/Hooch femmeslash
1. Chapter 1

_Hi there! This is my first story, so please be gentle! I have recently jumped aboard the McGonagall / Hooch ship, and I noticed there aren't a ton of stories featuring these lovely ladies . . . so here's my contribution! Femmeslash haters beware! _

_This story is set during Harry's 7__th__ year. While the trio is off horcrux-hunting, the gang back at Hogwarts is fighting a battle of their own. This is my alternative Book 7 as told through the eyes of everyone's favorite Transfiguration teacher and flying instructor. _

_Thanks for reading!!_

Tomorrow, or Next Year

Chapter 1

The midsummer sun sank below the ragged hillsides surrounding Hogsmeade village. The sky glowed with streaks of deep, golden pink, blanketing the valley in dusky twilight.

Xiomara Hooch sat on a stone wall in the front garden of her summer cottage, which was comfortably situated on a quiet lane just off the main village thoroughfare. She'd been sitting here for some time now, watching the sky go from pale blue, to pink, to a fading, bruised purple. Once upon a time, a summer evening like this would have meant a leisurely after-dinner flight over the hillsides and the Forbidden Forest, or a stroll down to The Three Broomsticks for a drink and a generous helping of village gossip. Xiomara ran her hand absently through her short, silvery hair. Ever since the death of Albus Dumbledore, just over a month ago, it seemed that the light and laughter had gone from the world.

Somewhere in the deepening twilight, an owl hooted. Xiomara shifted her seat slightly and leaned back to watch the dark silhouette of the night bird swoop past the cottage chimney, but continue on. Xiomara's body was tense from waiting, and as the daylight faded, she could feel the ever-present knot of worry in her stomach tightening. She checked her watch again, needlessly. Only five minutes had passed since she'd last noted the time.

A soft wind picked up as the last of the daylight faded. It rustled and whispered in the pines beyond the cottage, and Xiomara rubbed her arms. It had gotten chillier once the sun had set, but her mind was too preoccupied to really notice the drop in temperature. _It's getting late now. Something's gone wrong._ Xiomara sighed heavily, hopping down from her seat to pace beside the wall instead. The end of the lane was now obscured by deep shadows. Xiomara looked up at the rising moon, her heart pounding. _I need to do something, I need to -- _

A loud pop just behind her made Xiomara stumble and whirl around.

There she was, looking the same as she always did . . . dark hair piled high in her signature bun, posture tall and elegant, her light summer cape fluttering about her in the night breeze. Xiomara was prepared to pounce on her, her heart soaring with relief at the sight of her – and then she saw that her wand was drawn.

"Who's there?" Minerva McGonagall called in her most commanding headmistress tone.

"Min, you know bloody well who it is!" Xiomara snapped at her, moving forward to open the front gate.

"For Merlin's sake, Xiomara – what are you doing out here?" Minerva snapped back, lowering her wand slightly.

"Waiting for you. Is that a hex-worthy offense now?" Xiomara replied, fiddling with the gate latch in the darkness. It swung open with a faint creak, but Minerva hesitated.

"What was the score of our final match against Ravenclaw during our 7th year?" she demanded suddenly. Xiomara rolled her eyes.

"240 to 90 . . . a four hour game with two timeouts and a dislocated elbow . . ."

"Yes, all right," Minerva said, giving Xiomara a quick little kiss before striding up the front walk, putting away her wand. "You just startled me, Xiomara . . . lurking around in the dark . . ."

"I was about to call out a bloody search party!" Xiomara cried, following after her. "Where on earth have you been?"

"The meeting ran late," Minerva replied over her shoulder as they both hurried into the house. Xiomara turned to quickly survey the dark front garden before closing the door behind them.

Though the cottage was used only as their summer residence, there was a cozy, well lived-in air about the place. The parlor walls were lined with bookshelves, the stacks of well-worn tomes interspersed here and there with Xiomara's various Quidditch trophies. A sofa and two comfortable, overstuffed armchairs sat in front of the hearth, while the side tables were filled with recent issues of Quidditch Monthly and Transfiguration Today.

Minerva and Xiomara passed through the living room to the kitchen, a cheery room with potted herbs lining the windowsill and brightly scrubbed pots and pans hanging from the low ceiling. Minerva dropped into a chair at the end of the table and reached down to unlace her boots.

"So . . . did they reach a decision?" Xiomara asked, sitting down across from her and waving her wand absently in the direction of the stove. A small flame erupted underneath the copper teakettle.

"No," Minerva sighed, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, massaging her temples. "It's the same argument they've been having for weeks now. The Board of Governors is completely split on whether Hogwarts should reopen . . . Scrimgeour's delegation is, of course, pressuring them to keep the school operational. Tempers were running high today, though . . . I was quite sure Alexander O'Leary and Barnabus Jones were going to start dueling . . ."

"Well, they need to come to a decision soon, don't they?" Xiomara said, as two teacups slid across the table to them, accompanied by a steaming pot of chamomile tea. "You need to start sending out letters and all that business, right?"

Minerva nodded, pouring herself a cup of tea. "If there's to be a fall term this year, we are woefully behind in preparing for it . . . I don't know what to do about Muggle Studies, no one has heard from Charity in weeks . . ."

Xiomara was watching Minerva carefully in the warm light of the kitchen lamps.

"You look completely done in, Puss," she observed, leaning back in her own chair and tipping the front two legs off of the floor. "You need to take a Sleeping Draught and go to bed."

Minerva did not reply. She sat watching her teaspoon as it stirred her tea, and then took the cup lightly in her hands.

"Was there any news in the Prophet today?" she asked. Xiomara snorted.

"Same old swill," she said fiercely. "Still no mention of Mad Eye."

Minerva sat back and rubbed her eyes again.

"Are you hungry?" Xiomara asked. Minerva shook her head.

"A woman cannot exist on ginger newts alone, Min --"

Xiomara's scolding was cut short by a sudden flash of silver in the middle of the kitchen. Both women sat forward suddenly as the shimmering lynx spoke,

"Scrimgeour is dead. The Ministry has fallen."

Kingsley Shacklebolt's Patronus faded away, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. For several seconds, Xiomara and Minerva sat staring at each other.

"What --? How --?" Xiomara stammered, but Minerva was already on her feet, wand in hand.

"Minerva, what are you --?" Xiomara began.

There was a tremendous crash from the front hallway, as though the front door had been smashed in. Xiomara pulled her own wand from her pocket now, her heart pounding fast.

"Minerva McGonagall!" a voice boomed from the front hallway. There was the sound of several pairs of heavy footsteps stomping through the parlor. Another crash followed . . . someone had overturned a side table.

"Xiomara, get back," Minerva hissed quietly. She was poised just to the left of the kitchen door, her wand raised, every muscle in her body taut and ready to pounce.

"What --?" Xiomara whispered, taking a few steps away from the kitchen door. Minerva did not answer her.

"Who's there?" she called out, in the same imperious tone she'd used with Xiomara in the front garden earlier. Xiomara barely had time to rush around to the other side of the table when the kitchen door was blasted open, and a jet of red light shot into the room.

"_Stupify!"_ yelled a deep voice, as three broad men in dark cloaks burst into the room. Xiomara, ducking to avoid the spell, caught sight of Minerva brandishing her own wand and casting a silent hex at the nearest attacker, who fell heavily to the floor.

"_Stupify!"_ Xiomara hollered, sending a stunning spell at the bearded man who was fast approaching on her right. He deflected her spell and fired another curse back at her. It sailed by her, missing by mere inches, and hit the front of the china cabinet behind her.

Over the crashing sound of breaking glass, Xiomara could hear Minerva shouting spells at the third man, who she'd forced back out into the parlor. Xiomara sent spell after spell flying, and her attacker returned them with equal measure. The hood from his cloak had slipped off now, and she could see his entire face. He was younger than his beard had intimated, and looked vaguely familiar . . .

"Flint!" she crowed suddenly, dodging a hex as she rushed around to the other side of the table, trying to corner him. "Marcus Flint! I know you!"

The sound of his name seemed to momentarily startle the man, and he hesitated for a second. Seeing her advantage, Xiomara attacked, hitting him straight on with a stunning spell that send him flying into the remains of the shattered china cabinet. He slid to the floor and lay still.

A heated battle was still underway in the parlor – she could hear Minerva's sharp voice shouting spell after spell, and the deep growl of her opponent as he returned them. Xiomara jumped at the sound of an almighty crash – one of the bookcases had fallen. She turned and rushed towards the parlor door, and suddenly –

Her foot caught on something . . . and she was yanked to the ground. She turned to pull herself up, swearing loudly –

There was a brilliant flash of red, and all went black.

* * *

"Mara . . . . Mara . . . open your eyes . . ."

The voice was coming from somewhere far away . . . but Xiomara did not want to open her eyes, not yet. Her head was pounding like it did after a long night at the pub. All she wanted to do now was sleep . . .

"Xiomara . . . please . . ."

She knew that voice. Minerva . . . the attack . . .

With great effort, Xiomara forced her eyes open. She was lying on the sofa in the parlor now. The room was in total chaos – the bookcase to the right of the fireplace had fallen over, smashing the side table and armchair in its path. The floor was littered with torn books and broken glass . . . one of the front windows had been broken . . .

Minerva was sitting on the floor beside the sofa – a very un-Minerva like thing to do. Her hair was down around her face. There was a thin trickle of blood coming from a gash above her left temple. Her glasses were missing, and her eyes were red, as though she'd been crying.

Xiomara groaned, attempting to sit up.

"Minerva . . . good god, what happened? Are you all right? Who --?"

"That," Minerva said, her voice trembling slightly, "was a call from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."

"What --?!" Xiomara gasped. "What in bloody hell --??"

"Potter," Minerva said softly. "They're looking for Potter. Obviously, they've decided to start with the homes of known Order members . . ."

"But . . .what . . . couldn't they have just searched the place?" Xiomara said savagely, rubbing her aching head. She was having trouble processing all of this. Minerva was staring across the room into the empty fireplace. She paused before speaking.

"I don't believe they expected to find the boy here . . . more likely, they were looking for information . . . and to intimidate . . ."

Xiomara stared at her. A prickly feeling was starting along the back of her neck, as though an icy cold hand had suddenly grabbed her.

"Minerva . . . how long was I unconscious?" she demanded. Minerva did not answer her. Xiomara's eyes travelled to the broken window, where the pale light of dawn was beginning to glow on the horizon.

"Min --" she started again, reaching out and taking Minerva's hand.

"I told them nothing . . . not that I have much to tell . . ." Minerva said, very softly. "It took a while for them to be convinced of that, however . . ." her voice was shaking, and she stopped, pressing her lips together hard.

"Shhhh . . ." Xiomara slid from her seat on the sofa to the floor beside her, gathering Minerva gently in her arms. She heard her give a little hiss of pain, but she did not try to pull away as Xiomara drew her close.

Minerva did not cry. Xiomara was grateful for that. She didn't know if she could handle Minerva going to pieces on top of everything else . . . she was still trying to digest everything that had happened in the past few hours. The Ministry had fallen to the Death Eaters. The Dark Lord had the entire wizarding world at his command . . . and their last, best chance at salvation lie in a seventeen year old boy who was currently on the run.

And Minerva. Minerva was a part of all of this – a member of the Order, a well-known intimate of Dumbledore. She was a target. Xiomara's heart beat wildly as reality slowly dawned on her. If this is what could happen just hours after the Death Eaters took power . . . how long before they'd hauled her in and carted her off to Azkaban?

The sun rose slowly, gradually filling the room with soft, pink light. The two witches continued to sit on the parlor floor, breathing together, each lost in her own, terrible thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

_Huge thanks to everyone who read / reviewed Chapter 1! _

Chapter 2

Two days later, the owl came.

Minerva McGonagall sat in her newly restored parlor, frowning over the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. As usual, the paper was reporting the Ministry line – and what a sinister line it had quickly become. Required registration of all muggle-borns, hearings for those of questionable blood-status . . . and already, the disappearances of half-blood families. Minerva shivered in spite of the warm afternoon breeze that was fluttering the curtains of the mended parlor window.

She could hear Xiomara whistling out in the garden. She was tuning up her broom, though Minerva didn't see why it would need much work. They'd scarcely done any flying over the summer holidays. Minerva stretched and straightened the pages of the paper. Even on a day free from meetings with the Board of Governors, it seemed impossible to relax.

"Min!" Xiomara's voice called suddenly from outside, and Minerva felt an instinctive flutter of panic in her chest. She leapt from her seat and was halfway to the front door with her hand on her wand, when Xiomara appeared in the doorway with an owl perched on her arm.

"You've got a letter," she said. Minerva reached out and untied the scroll of parchment from the owl's leg, and Xiomara raised her arm to the sky as it flew off.

"Who's it from?" Xiomara asked, following Minerva back into the house.

"Matthias Merriweather . . . head of the Board . . ." Minerva murmured, her eyes narrowing as she read.

"Well . . . what does he say?" Xiomara prodded her, leaning against the parlor doorframe. Minerva read aloud:

_Dear Professor McGonagall:_

_It has been decided, by unanimous decision, that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will commence with the Fall Term on September the 1__st__. It is on recommendation of the Ministry of Magic that we have agreed to make attendance at Hogwarts compulsory for all school-aged witches and wizards in Great Britain. _

_We ask that you notify new and returning students immediately. Please also be advised that students will be asked to comply with a Ministry-approved survey upon returning at the start of term. _

_We shall keep you informed of any further changes in procedure as we move forward. _

_Yours Sincerely, _

_Matthias M. Merriweather_

"Are they mad?!" Xiomara crowed.

"No . . . but I wouldn't be at all surprised if they were Imperiused . . . or simply blackmailed," Minerva breathed, continuing to frown at the piece of parchment in her hands.

"Making Hogwarts compulsory . . . parents aren't going to like that, especially now . . ." Xiomara muttered. "And what in bloody hell is a 'Ministry-approved survey'?"

Minerva sighed heavily.

"I don't know . . . and I'm loath to find out," she muttered. "I suppose they'll be building on this new tactic of registering everyone's blood status . . . by forcing people to send their children to school and then interrogating students once they arrive, they can account for the great majority of wizarding families in the country."

"What about muggle-borns?" Xiomara asked softly.

Minerva's stomach gave a lurch. It was a bad enough situation for those of half-blood status . . . but muggle-born students coming to Hogwarts, especially those first years coming for the first time, were like lambs being led to a pack of wolves. How could she, in good conscience, send notification letters to those children who currently safe and sound in the muggle world, unaware of their magical abilities and the possibilities – and potential dangers – of their future?

Minerva could feel Xiomara's eyes watching her. She passed her the letter to read for herself.

"What are you going to do?" Xiomara asked quietly.

"I don't know," Minerva sighed. She stared out the window, watching two squirrels chasing each other up and down the trunk of the tree at the end of the garden.

"If you don't comply with them, Min, they'll come after you," Xiomara said. There was a hesitance in her voice that Minerva was not used to. She could tell Xiomara was as torn and confused as she was.

"If I send Hogwarts letters to muggle born students, Xiomara . . . I might as well hand them a death sentence . . ."

"Will they know?" Xiomara asked, her voice rising slightly as the idea came to her. "If you don't send Hogwarts letters to new, muggle-born first years . . . will they be able to check? You're the one with the book of names, after all . . . they'll have no way of knowing . . ."

"Yes. . . but I suspect . . . they'll be looking for them, won't they? The newest generation of muggle-born witches and wizards . . . it'll be the very first step in their – their operation," Minerva said bitterly, sinking to the sofa.

"I can't do it, Xiomara. I can't knowingly put children in danger."

"I know you can't," Xiomara said solemnly.

A long silence followed her words. Minerva turned back to the window, watching the brilliant sunflower blossoms along the front gate dip and sway in the breeze. Xiomara stood with the letter in her hand, her eyes moving from the parchment to Minerva's tense, troubled face.

"Come," Xiomara said suddenly, tossing the letter onto the front hall table with an air of distain. Minerva turned in surprise . . .she'd almost forgotten Xiomara was in the room. She raised a questioning eyebrow at her.

"We're going for a fly," Xiomara said firmly, in a voice usually reserved for disciplining rambunctious first years and over-zealous Quidditch fans. Minerva, however, simply stared at her.

"Xiomara, I hardly think now is an appropriate time -- "

"Min, we're at war. There's never going to be an _appropriate_ time," Xiomara replied, her voice softening slightly but her golden eyes smoldering.

Minerva looked down at her hands, and then back to the window. Her jaw was set and her lips pressed tight in the severe glare she'd been practicing on generations of Hogwarts students. Then, she rose to her feet.

"Only as far as the school," she said sternly. "I need to get a few things from my office, in any case."

***

Flying had always helped Minerva clear her head. As the she and Xiomara soared high over the rooftops of Hogsmeade, she could feel the constant weight of stress she'd been carrying over the past few weeks melting away. Her thoughts gradually began to settle. In the sky, nothing could touch her.

Looking down on the village below, Minerva was surprised to see so few pedestrians on the main street. Certainly people had been staying indoors after dark . . . but here it was, a perfect July afternoon, and there were only a few hurried looking figures bustling down the lane, staying close to the shops. In the distance, she could make out the source of their distress. A thin mist hung in the sky just north of the village, a sign of the growing dementor contingent. Even at this distance, Minerva could feel a slight chill in the air as the wind carried the insidious vapor trail in her direction.

She turned her eyes forward and focused instead on Xiomara, who was a bit further ahead and clearly in her natural element. She was riding the gentle air currents like a sailboat on the water, diving and swooping every now and again. On the Quidditch field, Xiomara was an aggressive flier – fast and fearless, an astonishingly good Chaser. But when there were no points to be scored, or matches to be refereed, she was grace itself on a broomstick. Minerva loved watching her. She trailed slightly behind until they approached the Hogwarts grounds, and then leaned forward with a burst of speed to pass her.

"Ha! You're only just catching up?" Xiomara crowed.

Minerva did not reply, but murmured a quiet incantation to lift the protective enchantments around the castle boundaries. As soon as they passed over the Hogwarts gate, she plummeted into a perfectly executed dive. She could hear Xiomara whooping with approval behind her.

They landed side by side in front of the stone steps leading up to the imposing castle doors. Xiomara was still chuckling as she dismounted, running a hand absently through her windblown hair.

"She's still got it!" she said, winking at Minerva. Minerva shook her head, but there was the hint of a smile on her lips as she tucked her broom under her arm and hurried up the stairs.

These days, Minerva did not need a password to enter the castle. The moment her hand touched the worn, iron door handle, there was a grinding noise as the enchanted locks drew back and the door swung open of its own accord.

Minerva and Xiomara's footsteps echoed loudly in the empty Entrance Hall. Hogwarts had always taken on a different energy during the summer months . . . there was a sense of anticipation in the air, as though the very building itself was waiting expectantly for the students to return. The castle was never truly vacant, however. There were the house elves, of course, and Filch, who prowled the corridors even during the summer months, waging battle with Peeves and supposedly undertaking repairs.

Hagrid, too, was a permanent resident of the castle grounds, though Minerva had not seen much of him in the past few weeks. She suspected he'd been spending a good bit of time in the mountains with Grawp.

"I've never much liked this place in the off season," Xiomara murmured, looking up at the towering staircase before them, its landings silent and empty. "It's far too quiet."

"Yes," Minerva agreed, marching purposefully towards the stairs. Being in the castle reminded her too much of her tremendous new responsibilities, and the reality of Dumbledore's death. The tension she'd managed to shake while flying was quickly returning – she could feel the tightness in her shoulders and the growing knot in the pit of her stomach.

They hurried along the empty corridors, encountering no one except for the ghost of the Grey Lady, who merely nodded as she glided through a closed door at the end of a hall. They came at last to Minerva's office – the same familiar room off of the Transfiguration corridor. Though the Headmaster's quarters had been accessible to her since the night of Dumbledore's death, she couldn't face moving her possessions into the place. It still didn't seem real, somehow . . . that he was gone forever from their lives, and that Hogwarts would now be entirely in her hands.

The office was dark. Minerva waved her wand absently at the sturdy, iron chandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling. A dozen candles sparked to life, bathing the room in a cheery glow. Xiomara wandered over to the window, tugging back the curtain to look out on the grounds beyond.

"Hmmm . . . no sign of the giant squid," she reported, gazing out towards the lake.

"Perhaps its on holiday," Minerva snorted, searching through the contents of her bottom desk drawer.

"Lucky sod," Xiomara muttered, leaning back against the windowsill and watching Minerva. "What are you looking for, Puss?"

"Resumes," Minerva said, her voice muffled slightly as she reached further back into the depths of her desk. "I need procure a new Muggle Studies professor on short notice . . . and an interim Transfiguration professor, come to that . . ."

"Do you really think Charity Burbage is . . .?" Xiomara began softly, her voice trailing off. Minerva glanced up, understanding the unspoken question.

"I sincerely hope that she has gone into hiding . . ." Minerva said, sitting back in her chair for a moment. "But I fear . . . otherwise."

Xiomara sighed, rising abruptly from her seat at the window to pace around the room. Minerva knew she was distressed . . . she could never stay still when she was anxious.

"When are you going to move office?" Xiomara asked, stopping to rub at a bit of soot on the fireplace mantle. Minerva did not answer her immediately. She had turned, instead, to the bookshelf behind the desk.

"Min?" Xiomara prompted her. It was Minerva's turn to sigh.

"Before the start of term, I expect, Xiomara," she said, rather sharply.

"Term starts in a few weeks time."

"I am well aware of that," Minerva snapped. They lapsed into silence for a moment. Minerva kept her back to Xiomara, scanning the bookshelf unnecessarily.

"You'll make an excellent Headmistress, Minerva . . . and you know he always thought so, too," Xiomara said quietly.

Minerva exhaled sharply. She did not want to have this conversation now. She couldn't afford to get emotional, not when there was so much to be done. Pulling a tattered, dragon-hide bound book from the top shelf, she turned back to Xiomara, addressing her as though she had not spoken.

"Shall we go?" she asked her, briskly. Xiomara gave her a piercing look, as though she could force Minerva to answer her with the power of her gaze.

But, in the end, Xiomara merely waved her wand at the chandelier, extinguishing the candles. Minerva stood back to allow her to exit first, and then turned to take one last, wistful look around the office before letting the door swing shut behind them.

***

They did not speak again until they were back outside. Minerva squinted as she exited the castle into the deepening afternoon sunshine. Her mind was already buzzing with tasks that would need doing . . . tonight, she must prepare start-of-term notices to be posted tomorrow . . . and arrange interviews with potential Muggle Studies and Transfiguration teachers . . . and notify her returning staff of the Board of Governors decision . . .

"Hagrid's back."

Xiomara's sudden words interrupted her thoughts. Minerva turned to see the familiar, hulking figure of the Hogwarts groundskeeper, digging in the pumpkin patch behind his cabin. She watched him for a long moment, and then strode off across the lawn in his direction. Xiomara followed in her wake.

"Well, g'afternoon, Professor . . . Xiomara," Hagrid called as they approached. He leaned heavily on his spade, while Fang the boarhound bounded past him towards the two women. Minerva shooed the dog away with the wave of her hand, and it went instead for Xiomara, leaping up to greet her with wet, slobbery kisses.

"Fang! Get down now, you great beast . . ." Hagrid called.

"Ahhhh, now, he's all right, Hagrid," Xiomara laughed, stopping to scratch the massive dog behind the ears. He immediately rolled over onto his belly, panting with approval.

"Hagrid, I wanted to have a word," Minerva said, skirting the manure pile at the edge of the garden. Hagrid, wiping his forehead with a spotted handkerchief, regarded her with an air of nervousness.

"I know I haven't been around much these past weeks," he started, "but it's Grawp, ya see . . .he gets awf'lly lonely, Professor --"

"No, no, Hagrid . . . that's quite understandable . . . it's the summer holidays, I don't expect you to remain tethered to the castle all year long," Minerva said gently. A wave of relief passed over his face.

"I wanted to tell you that the school will be reopening for Fall term," Minerva continued. "And I need to ask you a rather large favor."

"Blimey . . . well, of course, Professor – I mean, Headmistress . . ."

Minerva regarded him carefully for a moment. There was a smudge of dirt across his forehead, and his great hands and the knees of his work trousers were stained with earth. He certainly cut an imposing figure . . . but his dark, gentle eyes watched her with an air of quizzical concern. There was something very steadying about Hagrid. She understood, now more than ever, why Dumbledore had put so much trust in him.

"Hagrid . . . I would like to ask if you would consider being Head of Gryffindor house next term," Minerva said, her voice quiet and serious. Behind her, Xiomara stopped cooing at Fang in order to listen. Hagrid remained rooted on the spot, staring at Minerva as though she'd just sprouted wings.

"Obviously, I can't remain Head of House if I'm now to be -- Headmistress," she hesitated with her new title. "It would be a tremendous help, Hagrid, if you would be willing -- "

"Me?" Hagrid finally breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "Head of . . . _Me?_"

"Yes, you," Minerva said, briskly. "I can think of no better qualified candidate. Of course, traditionally, Heads of House reside inside the castle, at close proximity to their respective dormitories, but if you'd prefer to remain here," she gestured to Hagrid's snug little cabin, "I can arrange the appropriate means of communication between your house and Gryffindor Tower, in case of emergencies -- "

The whole time she'd been speaking, Hagrid's eyes had been filling with tears. At the words 'Griffindor Tower', they spilled over completely, and he gave a great, shuddering sob.

"Oh, there now, Hagrid," Xiomara said gently, coming over to pat him on the arm. "Minerva's right . . . you deserve it!"

"H-h-head of G-Gryffindor . . . I can't believe it . . . its m-m-more than I coulda ever . . ." his voice trailed off into another hiccupping sob, and he mopped at his eyes with his handkerchief.

"So you'll accept the position, then?" Minerva asked with a little smile, extending her hand for him to shake. He gave a great sniff, blinking at her with red-rimmed eyes, and then took her small hand gently in his own.

"It – it'll be my honor, Headmistress," he croaked. Xiomara stood by, beaming at them both.

"Good," Minerva said warmly, giving Hagrid's hand a final little squeeze before releasing it. "Very good, Hagrid. I will stop by on Monday afternoon to review the particulars of the position with you . . . and we'll make the final arrangements for your living quarters --"

"Fine, fine . . . I'm just . .. thank you, Headmistress . . ."

"You know, Hagrid, you have known me for over 50 years -- and you are a Professor and now a Head of House," Minerva said, wryly, "There's no need for such formality."

"Yes, yes . . . 'course . . . thank you – er – Minerva," he said, blushing slightly. Xiomara chuckled, giving his arm a little squeeze.

"Would you ladies like a cuppa? I was gonna put the kettle on," Hagrid started, suddenly realizing that they were standing out in the garden, beside the manure pile.

"Unfortunately, I have a thousand things to attend to, Hagrid, but thank you," Minerva said, shifting her broom under her arm.

"You should come by for dinner some evening, Hagrid," Xiomara added. "We've scarcely seen you this summer."

"Tah, Xiomara. That'd be nice," Hagrid said with a grin, his face still flush with happiness. "You both get home safe now . . . no telling what those dementors are up to . . ."

"Thank you, Hagrid."

"Yes, see you soon, Hagrid!"

Xiomara gave Fang a parting pat, and the two women mounted their brooms and kicked off into the afternoon sky.

"What do you say, Min – once around the Quidditch pitch for luck?" Xiomara called, hovering in midair for a moment. Minerva hesitated, but then swooped around in the direction of the distant stadium.

This had been their tradition after every Quidditch practice, so many years ago. Minerva looked down at the empty stadium seats, remembering the thrill of competition and the roaring of the crowd. Xiomara passed her, zooming towards the goalposts at the far end of the pitch with impressive speed. Minerva quickly caught up with her, however, and they lapped the pitch, once, twice . . .

"Enough, Mara – I need to get back," Minerva cried over the wind, but she was laughing. Once more, around the goalposts, where Xiomara did an impressive loop-de-loop, and then the two witches soared up over the final row of seats and away from the castle.

"That was brilliant, Min," Xiomara sighed, as they flew side by side over the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. "Promoting Hagrid to Head of Gryffindor."

Minerva gave a sad little smile, her eyes focused on the horizon.

"It's what Dumbledore would have done," she said simply.

Xiomara reached out, and took Minerva's hand in her own. And they flew on, side by side and hand in hand, towards home.


	3. Chapter 3

_Hey everyone! A big thanks to all who have read / reviewed the story so far, especially Kelly Chambliss for the great mechanical help! I soooo appreciate everyone's feedback! This chapter is more of a "setting the stage" installment, but I promise there will be more action to come! _

Chapter 3

"Ouch! Bloody hell!" Xiomara Hooch muttered, rubbing her bruised shin.

Beyond the dusty windows of the Quidditch Field House, the sun was sinking low on the horizon. Xiomara had spent the last five hours taking inventory and making repairs to the school brooms. These were tasks she typically undertook in July, but the events of the strange, uncertain summer meant that these mundane housekeeping duties had been put off until now – the day before the start of term.

So engrossed was she in the trimming of tail twigs and polishing of two hundred broom handles, she'd completely lost track of time. She would almost certainly be late for dinner. Hurrying to put away the last canisters of broom polish, she'd tripped over a bundle of replacement handles and banged her shin rather hard as she went sprawling.

Still cursing, she limped to the door. Taking one final look around the relatively organized Field House, she extinguished the lights and double-checked that the door was locked before hurrying across the lawn towards the castle.

The night before the start of term was a bit of an occasion for the Hogwarts staff, a chance for them all to reconvene and dine together after the summer holidays. Xiomara knew that tonight's dinner would be a bittersweet one. This would mark the first time that the staff had all gathered together since Dumbledore's funeral . . . and it would also be Minerva's first occasion to greet them formally as Headmistress. Xiomara walked quickly, ignoring the dull throbbing of her left shin.

"Evenin' Xiomara," a familiar voice called as she approached the castle doors. Hagrid was lumbering up the lawn from the opposite direction, wearing his most formal – and hairy – suit jacket for the occasion.

"Why hello there, Hagrid," Xiomara greeted him. "How have you been keeping?"

"Oh, busy . . . lots to do, ya know . . . haven't had a chance to see poor Gwarpy in days . . ."

"Hopefully things will be a bit less hectic once the term gets underway," Xiomara said sympathetically, as they passed through the Entrance Hall where Filch was busily polishing the four house hourglasses. He gave Hagrid a scathing glare, which the poor half-giant did not seem to notice. He'd slowed to a halt just in front of the doors to the Great Hall, looking suddenly nervous. Xiomara patted his arm and gently nudged him forward.

"Well . . . looks like we aren't the only ones running behind schedule," she murmured as they entered the Hall. The house tables had been cleared away, and the Head Table had been moved to the center of the room. Only Filius Flitwick and Sybil Trelawney were currently seated, however. As Xiomara and Hagrid approached the table, Filius greeted them with obvious relief.

"Hagrid, congratulations! Minerva's just told me the wonderful news!" the Charms professor squeaked, reaching up to shake Hagrid's massive hand.

"Yes, Hagrid . . . I have always Seen great things for you . . ." Sybil murmured airily, already sipping heavily from her goblet.

Hagrid, who had turned a rather impressive shade of red, lowered himself awkwardly into a chair beside Xiomara, nodding his thanks.

"Where is everyone?" Xiomara asked Filius. She should have realized that the other staff members would be just as harried as she. The majority of them had arrived only in the past day or so.

"Oh, they'll be along presently . . . I know Minerva was going over some final Hufflepuff OWL results with Pomona . . . and I saw Professor Sinistra on my way down, she was just going to freshen up -- "

Sure enough, the Hall doors swung open and a small crowd of people hurried in. Septima Vector and Aurora Sinistra led the pack, deep in conversation, with Poppy Pomfrey and Pomona Sprout following close behind. Minerva and Horace Slughorn brought up the rear. Horace was puffing away to Minerva, his bald head shining in the candlelight as he waddled through the door. Xiomara could tell from the slight furrow of Minerva's brow that she was a getting a bit impatient with his blustering talk and slow gait.

There were greetings all around, and much congratulating of Hagrid.

"Good man, Hagrid," Horace declared as he heaved himself into a nearby chair. "An unexpected choice, but a fine one, I think . . ."

"Well, I believe we are all present and accounted for," Minerva said, putting an end to further proclamations from Slughorn. "Our new staff will be arriving tomorrow on the train -- "

She took her seat, across the table from Xiomara. The moment she sat, the platters along the table immediately filled with food. Xiomara's heart lurched at the sight of the kidney pudding at the far end of the table – one of Dumbledore's particular favorites. Before anyone reached for a serving spoon, however, Filius cleared his throat and raised his goblet.

"I'd like to make a toast," he said, looking up and down the table at his fellow staff members. "To a successful Fall Term. And to our new Headmistress!"

"Hear, hear!"

"Cheers!"

There was a clinking of glasses all along the table. Xiomara caught Minerva's eye as she raised her glass to her.

"Well, well . . . I must say I was rather surprised when I first heard of the Board's decision to reopen, Minerva," Horace said as soon as he'd lowered his goblet.

"It took some time for them to reach a consensus," Minerva said mildly. "Filius, could you please pass the sprouts?"

"Were you able to fill all of the staffing vacancies, Minerva?" Aurora asked. Minerva nodded.

"It took some doing, but I've found Reginald Peacock to take over Muggle Studies, and a Dilaria Dillanger is going to take first through fifth year Transfiguration. I shall continue to teach the NEWT level course until we can find someone more permanent."

"What about Defense Against the Dark Arts?" asked Septima. Minerva sighed.

"That position has been a nightmare to fill at the best of times," she said. "But the Ministry claims they will be sending along someone from the Office of Auror Training to oversee the class," there was a tone of skepticism in her voice.

"The _Ministry_ is going to oversee Defense Against the Dark Arts?!" Pomona spluttered, nearly choking on a mouthful of roast.

"Yes . . . we all remember how well that went the last time," Xiomara said darkly.

"They wouldn't dare send that woman again -- " Filius began.

"No," Minerva cut him off, "I've been told that Dolores Umbridge has a new title at the Ministry these days. She is currently Head of the Muggle-Born Registration Committee."

"Good lord," Poppy breathed.

"Do you know, I just heard from Marcus Bulby, Chief Executive at the WWN now, that a number of people -- " Horace began, but he was interrupted quite suddenly by the appearance of Filch. He came tearing into the Great Hall, waving a filthy cleaning rag in agitation.

"Headmistress! Headmistress! You've got visitors!" he crowed, looking thoroughly annoyed that his long night of scouring was being interrupted. Minerva frowned.

"Visitors? Who --?"

"A whole pile of 'em, comin' up the lane!" Filch huffed.

"But -- how could anyone get through the gates?" Xiomara asked, looking to Minerva, who had half risen from her seat.

Before anyone could answer, the unmistakable sound of the castle doors unlocking echoed from the Entrance Hall. Xiomara saw Minerva's hand slip into her pocket for her wand, and then –

"Oh . . . we seem to be interrupting . . ."

Two men in long, dark travelling cloaks stood in the Great Hall doorway. Xiomara vaguely recognized them to be Matthias Merriweather, head of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and Pius Thicknesse, the new Minister of Magic.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" Minerva said tersely, stepping away from the table towards them. The rest of the staff looked on, puzzled.

"Good evening, Minerva . . . Professors . . ." Thicknesse said, in a flat, bored-sounding voice. "Just came to have a quick word. It seems we have a few last minute – er – rearrangements . . . Minerva, if you wouldn't mind stepping out --"

"Forgive me, Minister, but anything you have to say to me regarding Hogwarts can surely be said in front of my staff," Minerva interjected. Xiomara could see only her profile now, but could tell that she was staring down the two men with her most piercing glare.

Merriweather appeared to be at a loss for words. Even Thicknesse seemed momentarily cowed, but quickly recovered himself.

"Yes, well . . . I regret to tell you, Minerva, that we have decided to make some last minute staffing changes. The Ministry has thought it prudent to place some of its own . . . representatives . . . . at Hogwarts this year to ensure that our policies are being – adhered to --"

"Oh?" Minerva said in a dangerously quiet voice. Out of the corner of her eye, Xiomara saw Filius discreetly reaching for his wand.

"We have chosen new Muggle Studies and Defense Against the Dark Arts professors that we feel will be quite suitable. And – well . . . the Ministry has also deemed it prudent to appoint a new Headmaster."

His words were met with stunned silence. Xiomara thought surely she must have misunderstood the man. A new Headmaster? What could this mean?

"Should I bring them in, Minister?" Merriweather asked timidly.

"Yes, yes . . . I suppose so . . ." the Thicknesse said, seemingly oblivious to the dangerous atmosphere of the room.

The Great Hall doors swung wide once again. For a moment, Xiomara was certain that her eyes must be failing, or perhaps it was some ghastly trick of the light – because surely, that could not possibly be –

"MURDERER!!" Hagrid thundered from behind her, leaping from his chair so fast that it skidded across the hall. Xiomara instinctively grabbed his arm, her gaze fixed on the sallow-skinned, greasy-haired man who stood in the doorway.

"_You_," Minerva hissed. There was venom in her voice that Xiomara scarcely recognized.

"Me," said Snape in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone. He did not seem the least bit concerned that every wand in the room was drawn and pointed in his direction. "Allow me to introduce you new colleagues, Amycus and Alecto Carrow."

Snape moved further into the hall, allowing a squat, disheveled looking man and his female counterpart to enter.

"Look, Alecto! We're just in time for the dinner party!" the man wheezed, elbowing his sister. She cackled in reply.

"Well then. . .yes . . . we'll leave you all to get things settled . . ." Thicknesse said flatly. "Severus, if there are any problems, please don't hesitate to contact me . . ."

"Thank you, Minister," said Snape, taking a long, slow look around the room. "I do not foresee any immediate issues . . ."

Xiomara could feel the muscles in Hagrid's massive arm contract, as though he were preparing to pound Snape into the stone floor. She dug her fingernails into the top of his hand in an effort to restrain him.

Merriweather and Thicknesse departed quickly, leaving the staff of Hogwarts frozen around the dinner table, poised for battle.

"Mmmm . . . try some of this roast, Amycus!" Alecto Carrow crowed to her brother. She had conjured herself a plate out of thin air and was now greedily nosing about the platters at the far end of the table.

"Please, don't let us interrupt," Snape said, his voice silky, his lips turned up in a thin sneer. "I shall see myself upstairs." And he turned and strode from the room, cape billowing behind him.

Burning hatred bubbled up inside Xiomara as she watched him go. Never before in her life had she experienced such hopeless rage. She could see the same sentiment reflected in every face around the table – Filius and Pomona looked ready to commit murder themselves. Poppy appeared on the verge of tears.

Minerva continued to stand halfway between the table and the door. For a moment, Xiomara was certain that she would go after Snape. They listened to his footsteps crossing the Entrance Hall, and finally fading away up the main staircase. The Carrows had now commandeered the far end of the table and were busily stuffing their mouths, apparently unconcerned about the presence of the remaining staff.

"Minerva," Filius finally said, breaking the silence. His voice seemed to shake them all from their paralyzed state. Xiomara let go of Hagrid and hurried around the table in Minerva's direction . . . but she was already walking briskly from the room. The rest of the staff quickly followed.

"They can't . . . they _can't_ . . ." Pomona was seething as they abandoned the Great Hall.

"They have," Horace said grimly, shaking his head.

Xiomara pushed past them towards Minerva, who was standing alone in the middle of the entrance hall. She was staring blankly at the wall opposite, her wand still clutched tightly at her side.

"Min," Xiomara said tentatively, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. She could feel Minerva trembling, her whole body radiating with a startling heat.

She shook Xiomara off and then turned abruptly to the front doors.

"Minerva? Are you . . . where are you going?" Pomona called after her. But Minerva ignored her, wrenched the door open, and disappeared into the night.

***

Xiomara knew where she would go.

At the far end of the Quidditch pitch, behind the bleachers, the ground dipped into a gentle gully that ran down towards the edge of the forest. It was a popular meeting place for students who wished to have a little privacy. Xiomara and Minerva had spent a good bit of quality time there during their 6th and 7th years, following Quidditch practices. It was as far from the castle as you could get without being out-of-bounds . . . and Xiomara knew that, as angry and upset as Minerva might be, she was not about to abandon Hogwarts completely.

As she approached the stadium, Xiomara could make out faint flashes of light in the distance, confirming Minerva's whereabouts. She hurried along the outside of the bleacher walls, her footsteps loud on the gravel path. She could hear an ominous crackling and sizzling noise that grew louder as she drew closer to Minerva's retreat.

Xiomara rounded the far end of the stadium, and stopped. She could see Minerva standing down on the grass, her back to the bleachers. Even from this distance, Xiomara could feel the powerful current of magic in the air. She watched as Minerva's wand arched suddenly, and a burst of bright white fire filled the sky, raining sparks down over the lawn and lighting up the dark forest beyond.

"Minerva . . .?" Xiomara called out to her. Minerva did not respond. Another jet of fire burst from her wand and engulfed part of the tree line before her. Xiomara's heart was pounding. Had she gone mad? Was she going to burn the whole bloody forest down?

"M-Min . . .?" she called out again. Her voice sounded timid, almost childlike in the thick night air.

"_Leave me!"_ Minerva shrieked back at her. Xiomara hardly recognized her voice – it shook and cracked with emotion.

Xiomara stood there for a long moment, holding on to one of the bleacher support posts. Never, in the all the years she had known Minerva McGonagall, had she seen her in this state. For the first time in her life, Xiomara was a little afraid of her.

Then, not knowing what else to do, she turned and made her way back through the darkness to the castle alone.

***

It was hours later when Xiomara finally heard the door to Minerva's sitting room creak open. Since returning from the grounds, she'd been curled up in an armchair beside the empty fireplace, waiting in the dark. Through the window, she could see a greenish light on the horizon, a brief flicker of the coming dawn.

At the sound of Minerva opening the door, she lit her wand.

"Xiomara! . . . what are you doing?" Minerva gasped, startled by the suddenly flare of wandlight.

"Waiting for you," Xiomara replied, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand. Minerva stood with her hands on the back of the sofa, her face half in shadow. Xiomara surveyed her carefully. She looked quite the same as she usually did . . . a bit pale, perhaps . . . but no one would ever imagine she'd spent the last several hours in a fit of uncontrollable rage.

"It's almost three o'clock in the morning," Minerva said.

"I know," Xiomara countered.

"Well, why are you still –?"

"Oh, Minerva – did you really think I'd be able to sleep?!" Xiomara snapped, springing from her chair. She marched across the room to the sideboard along the far wall. A little cabinet popped open with a faint click as she approached, and Xiomara busied herself with pouring two glasses of firewhiskey. Minerva sank wearily to the sofa, fumbling for a moment with the laces of her boots.

"Are you all right?" Xiomara asked quietly.

"Yes, of course I'm all right," Minerva sniffed, straightening up and taking the glass of amber liquid with a steady hand. Xiomara returned to the armchair, watching her closely.

Minerva took a bracing sip from her glass and then looked up at her.

"Well?" Xiomara prompted.

"Well, what?" Minerva sighed.

"Well – what are we going to do??" Xiomara's voice came out louder than she'd expected. Minerva looked away, taking another slow sip of firewhiskey. For a moment, Xiomara didn't think she was going to respond.

"I don't know," Minerva finally said, her voice soft and tired.

"He killed -- " Xiomara began, more to herself than to Minerva, but she quickly cut her off.

"I'm well aware of what he did, Xiomara," she snapped.

"But how . . . how can they make him Head of the bloody school?!" Xiomara exploded.

"_They_ are not the ones in charge, anymore," Minerva said, darkly. "This is obviously You-Know-Who's directive."

"You mean to tell me, out of the entire Ministry, there is no one who can say, 'Severus Snape is a murderer and should be sentenced to Azkaban'?" Xiomara fumed, her golden eyes glittering in the dim light.

"Oh, Mara . . . have you forgotten our visit from the Ministry in July?" Minerva said, softly. "The Death Eaters have a firm grasp on every Ministry Department now . . . you saw Thicknesse – tell me that man is not under an Imperius curse . . ."

"But, surely there are Aurors . . ."

"Those who are opposed to the new regime are effectively trapped, Mara . . . and so, for that matter, are we."

Fear curdled Xiomara's stomach. She leaned forward in her chair, her hands on her knees.

"I won't be trapped, Minerva McGonagall! I cant bear it, I won't sit idly by and allow that – that -- "

"Xiomara, stop," Minerva said quietly, as Xiomara leapt from her seat once again to pace the room.

"He's upstairs! Right now! In Dumbledore's office – in _your_ office, Minerva! We can't just roll over and allow the cronies of You Know Who to take over Hogwarts --!!"

"And what do you suggest we do, Xiomara?" Minerva suddenly shot back, her voice shrill. "Go upstairs, right now, and murder You-Know-Who's favorite servant? How many minutes do you think it would be before the Death Eaters came swarming? And tomorrow, the students would arrive to find a school completely at the hands of the Dark Lord . . . how long before you suppose the muggle born children would be stolen away from here, to their deaths?!"

Xiomara stood quite still behind the sofa, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Minerva stared forward into the empty fireplace, the echo of her passionate words still ringing in the air. Xiomara watched her shoulders rise and fall sharply with each breath.

The grim truth of Minerva's argument washed over Xiomara like a wave of icy water. She felt the fight slowly draining from her body, replaced by sudden exhaustion.

"There is a time and a place for battle, Xiomara," Minerva said softly, still not facing her. "And this is not it. Hogwarts needs us now."

Xiomara uncrossed her arms and sat down wearily on the arm of the sofa. She felt Minerva's body shift slightly at her approach, and took this as an opening to sit beside her, sliding her arm gently around her shoulders. Minerva leaned back into her embrace. Neither woman spoke for a long time.

"Oh, Puss . . ." Xiomara finally murmured. Her voice held all the emotion she could not find the proper words for.

"I know, Mara . . . I know," Minerva breathed back.

Somewhere deep within the bowels of the castle, a clock chimed the hour. Xiomara stayed right where she was, feeling the comforting warmth of Minerva leaning against her, listening to the gentle rise and fall of her breath.

She did not dare to think upon what tomorrow might bring.


End file.
